


Acta Non Verba

by PNGuin



Series: Dux Bellorum One-Shots [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kinda, M/M, Magnus Bane Loves Alec Lightwood, Magnus is horny on main for Alec, POV Magnus Bane, Stream of Consciousness, literally just an excuse to write 5000 words of Magnus being utterly whipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 10:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17282621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PNGuin/pseuds/PNGuin
Summary: It's maddening and wonderful and entirely unprecedented for the Magnus Bane - king of hedonism and patron of all the most lustful arts - to be so thoroughly, whole-heartedly, undeniably whipped.By some oblivious little nephilim, nonetheless.





	Acta Non Verba

**Author's Note:**

> To be completely honest, I have zero clue what this even is. I just started writing and then Magnus' rambling just took over. I'm not quite sure if it's as coherent as I'd like, but it was fun to write and I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> This story ties into my other works, Ius Primae Noctis and Noli Me Tangere. You don't have to read them to understand, but they do provide more background information than given here.
> 
> Title translates to "actions, not words."

Alexander Gideon Lightwood is absolutely one-hundred percent a cuddler.

It’s, admittedly, not one of the things Magnus immediately picks up on.

He’s quite a bit frustrated with himself for the oversight. Surely, it should have been remarkably apparent, it should have been a blaring red alert for him to see, it should have been a vibrant neon sign pointing right at him. Instead, he had been rather too preoccupied thinking _‘gods, I want to climb that man like a tree’_ ever since Alexander had first wandered into his club. And then it was a frantic few weeks of relentless and over-the-top flirting. And then Magnus had so foolishly been swept up by Alec’s bold coming-out and his gorgeous eyes and his delicious mouth and that beautifully bashful little blush he gets whenever he’s looking at Magnus.

So, really, it isn’t exactly Magnus’ fault that his mind is a bit scattered. Something about his darling Alexander just leaves him simultaneously so hot under the collar that his brain melts with it and also so warm in his chest that he fears he may have heartburn. It’s maddening and wonderful and entirely unprecedented for _the Magnus Bane_ – king of hedonism and patron of all the most lustful arts – to be so thoroughly, whole-heartedly, undeniably _whipped_.

By some oblivious little nephilim, nonetheless.

For all that people believe him to be reckless and willfully obstinate, Magnus does have a set of rules that he abides by. Rules that he _has_ abided by ever since he saw his father for what he was and banished the monster to Edom. Most of those rules have to do with morality and ethics: never harm a child, help those who need it, _try_ to be forgiving when at all feasible. Some of the rules regard his own lifestyle and choices: always ask for consent, don’t let drunkards wander off alone, never ever mix opium with seelie shrooms _ever_ again. And there’s one rule, one golden rule, which he has kept ever since he was a young boy under his father’s care: _no nephilim_.

And literal _hundreds of years_ of careful avoidance come crashing to a halt all because Alexander Gideon Lightwood is an _archer_ – and you _know_ what they say about an archer’s arms – and he does that deceptively smooth knife flip that has Magnus’ pants tighter than a Victorian-era corset in a matter of seconds. Of course, not even several hours later, Magnus is blurting out dumb meat puns and receiving the most unguarded smile he has ever seen in his life and all of Magnus’ self-control goes right out the window.

That’s just the very beginning of their relationship, and it all goes steadily downhill from there. The subsequent back and forth between them somehow manages to be aggravating and invigorating all at once. It’s been ages since Magnus has chased after someone playing hard to get and it’s _fun_ to try and charm his way into the younger man’s pants. And he doesn’t think he’ll ever, _ever_ admit it to Alec, but at first that’s all it is. He sees a gorgeously tall man with dark curly hair and soft lips that would look enthralling wrapped around his cock and suddenly he has to internally snap _‘down, boy’_ at his own dick just to keep his boner under control.

That’s the entire reason he invites Alexander over for drinks at his loft. He hopes, perhaps even naively, that he can simply fuck the shadowhunter and then the startling emotions plaguing him will leave. His plan is to get a few drinks into Alec – drinks which are very light in alcohol, mind you; Magnus does _not_ fuck with people too drunk to give consent – and hopefully loosen the Clave stick that’s shoved up the nephilim’s ass. And then immediately bend him over the kitchen table and replace it with a far more pleasurable stick. He wants to fuck Alexander so hard that the precious heir forgets all about the _Lightwood_ family name, so hard that the only name he’ll be able to moan is _Magnus_.

But then Alexander _does_ come to his loft, right when his magic is about to fail him and Lucian Graymark – no, wait, he goes by Luke Garroway now – is dying on his couch. To be completely honest, Magnus doesn’t expect anything. He leans back against Alec’s chest – and _holy_ _ever-loving shit_ does he work out – and holds his hand up just for the _drama_ of it all. And the endearingly oblivious man just takes his hand and _gives_ Magnus his strength. Imagine that. A shadowhunter, a Lightwood, _Maryse Lightwood’s son_ freely holding a warlock’s hand and just _pouring_ all of his strength into it, absolutely no inhibitions or hesitance.

That changes things. Perhaps even everything.

Because then Alexander is attempting to clean up the mess – a mess that isn’t even _his_ to clean up – as if Magnus can’t simply snap his fingers, as if it’s completely normal for a shadowhunter to be tidying up a warlock’s lair. And Magnus valiantly tries to just continue with his initial plan, just fuck the shadowhunter and then let go of all the emotions that rise up within him like the first tide in over a century. But then Alec has to go and wrinkle his nose at the taste of Magnus’ artfully mixed cocktail, and he remains charmingly ignorant of the warlock’s ulterior motives.

Instead of bent over the table or slammed up against the wall as Magnus intends, Alec wanders around his loft and stumbles upon a book of old Persian literature, written in the original dialect. Just as Magnus goes to offer a translation, the shadowhunter rattles off one of Rumi’s poems from heart, spoken in fluent Persian and everything. They end up discussing ancient literature until the early hours of the morning and it’s incredibly scintillating in a manner that he doesn’t expect. Magnus can’t help but realize that there’s more to it all. More to the closeted nephilim with gorgeous hazel eyes and deliciously long legs, more to the Clave soldier who would sign away his fate for the sake of his siblings, more to _Alexander_.

Magnus has always had good instincts, and he’s proven right when Alexander marches the wrong way down the aisle, snapping at his mother and then giving Magnus an earth-shattering kiss right in front of appointed Clave officials. And it’s in that moment – regardless that it’s only their first kiss, regardless that they’ve only interacted for a fleeting few hours – that Magnus Banes realizes he is unrepentantly ruined.

It’s utterly terrifying. (It’s absolutely _glorious_.)

So surely Magnus can be forgiven if, in those first few tentative weeks of their _official_ relationship, he exerts most of his mental and emotional capacity on trying to tamp down all of the horrendously over-the-top emotions running through him. He _wants_ Alexander, but not just in the lust-driven, ‘fuck them and leave them’ way that he’s survived off of for over a hundred years. (To be clear, he _definitely_ does want Alec in that manner, enough so that he ends up having to jack off several times a day to the thought of gorgeous hazel eyes and beautiful pink lips and angelic runes stark against pale muscled skin just to keep his wits about him.) But a part of him realizes that he also wants Alexander to _stay_.

And that’s what ultimately leads Magnus to stuff down all the desperation and step back enough for Alec to take the lead in their relationship. Because Alec _means_ something to Magnus and he most decidedly does not want to ruin the potential of what they could have simply because he can’t keep it in his pants. So Magnus very deliberately _does_ keep it in his pants and very deliberately hands Alec the reigns.

It’s wonderful. Far and away the happiest and most fulfilling relationship Magnus has _ever_ been a part of. Alec is the absolute epitome of a recently out virgin, all hesitant but eager kisses and achingly soft touches and bumbling but profound declarations. It’s refreshing and invigorating and captivating.

But it’s…well, it’s also very _slow_.

Not that that’s a bad thing. Not at all. In fact, it’s most likely a _good_ thing, given how out of practice Magnus is when it comes to actually being in a relationship. There’s a lot of cobwebs to brush off, and quite a few of them are from abusive situations. He should probably deal with those before Alec manages to see all the skeletons in his closet.

Alec has a tendency to be skittish with anything resembling physical affection, most especially so in public. So Magnus resolutely avoids any hand-holding or casual touches whenever they go out, and in the privacy of Magnus’ loft they have ridiculously hot make-out sessions that never lead to anything more but which make Magnus’ blood sing and have his pants much tighter at the end than they were at the beginning. And if, as soon as Alec leaves, Magnus rushes to his bedroom to get his rocks off like some horny teenager, well. No one has to be any the wiser.

And it’s fine. It’s a system that works. Magnus may be a lust-driven maniac – if you believe all the rumors – but he knows his body exceptionally well; he can keep himself content with just his hands and his (inordinately large) toy collection. If the choice is between having wild, unattached sex-capades or getting to keep his Alexander, Magnus knows _exactly_ which option he is always going to choose.

Sex is fun, to be sure. _Very_ fun, even. But the high from a good orgasm is a fleeting, temporary thing, lasting Magnus a meager few hours. And yet the high Magnus gets whenever Alexander gives him an endearingly chaste kiss hello, or whenever Alexander grins at him with unguarded joy, or whenever they both laugh over terrible puns? The pleasure he derives from such simple things far exceeds even the best orgasm.

Magnus is willing to continue on as they are for the rest of eternity, if that’s what it takes to keep Alec happy. And it looks like it will remain as such, because they’re already one month into their relationship and Alec doesn’t ever ask for more. He stays a bit hesitant and a bit skittish and Magnus respectfully doesn’t push. It could be from lingering internalized homophobia set in place by the Clave, or it could simply be that Alec is asexual and doesn’t want sex out of their relationship. Magnus doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have to; if Alec wants him to know, then he can tell Magnus in his own time. It truly doesn’t matter.

Until, of course, things go south and suddenly it very much _does_ matter.

It’s a typical night for the two of them: Alec is over at Magnus’ and they’re seated pressed up against each other on the couch, eating Thai food and watching dumb mundane TV. Alec is adorably sleepy after a long day of patrols and paperwork and Magnus is content to simply curl up beside his boyfriend and cuddle under a fluffy blanket. But before he can even comprehend the change, Alec is suddenly kissing him with that same one-track intensity that he gives everything he cares about.

Warlock or not, Magnus is but a man. So when his delectable boyfriend is pressing into his space and hungrily nipping at his lips, well, who is Magnus to try and deny him? He eagerly falls into the kiss, deepening it with a subtle urgency that belies his own hunger. He hasn’t gotten the chance to masturbate in days and it’s been over three months since he’s had sex (it absolutely must be a new record for himself), and the tension that hums throughout his body seems to tighten impossibly more.

Magnus eventually has to draw back for air and Alec’s heavy breathing echoes in his head as if he’s in a daze. He slips further into the haze of lust, and he leans down to nip at Alec’s neck and across the delicate line of his collarbone. One of Magnus’ hands slides up to tangle in the shadowhunter’s hair, pulling just hard enough that Alec’s head tilts and Magnus has the unrestricted access necessary to suck on that glorious deflect rune. A throaty moan slips out of Alec unchecked, and the sound goes straight to Magnus’ groin. He grows impossibly harder and Magnus is fairly certain that he’s gearing up to cream his pants like some unbearably horny teenager. He doesn’t even mind.

Alec’s hands are everywhere: brushing over Magnus’ cheeks, threading through his hair, slipping up under his shirt. Everywhere he touches, Magnus’ body lights up with electricity. It’s the most handsy they’ve gotten with each other and Magnus _wants_. He wants Alec to straddle his lap and ride him into oblivion, he wants to slide to his knees and choke on Alec’s cock, he wants to drag them into his bedroom and get lost in the feel of Alec’s body against his own.

But. Baby steps. Start small. Right. Don’t want to scare Alec off.

Magnus keeps his lips against Alec’s neck, nipping and sucking and hopefully leaving a trail of hickeys. A simple _iratze_ will heal them before Alec has to return to the Institute, if he so chooses, but just the thought of him walking back into the nephilim headquarters with them still visible has Magnus shuddering in his seat. _Gods above_ , he’s harder than a rock. One of his hands drops down onto Alec’s knee and then trails up with clear intent.

And Alec _flinches_.

It’s a full-body movement, jerky and sudden and violent in his need to get away. Alec’s arms flail slightly, one arm stretching out and pushing Magnus away. Magnus is far too surprised to do much more than fall back. His brain is muddled by lust and shock and he ends up just laying against the arm of the couch, blinking emptily at the space that has opened up between him and Alec.

Alec, whose breathing is short and shallow and far too quick to be healthy. He’s trembling, his hands shaking and his shoulders quivering. Magnus knows the symptoms. _Panic attack_ , his brain belatedly supplies, and then he’s shifting into gear. He sits up and calls Alec’s name, but gets no response from the younger man. So Magnus grabs his hand and forces the palm against his chest, right over his heart, and he begins rambling in the most soothing voice he can. He talks Alec through what they’re doing and he talks about how well Alec is doing and quite a few terms of endearment accidentally slip into the stream of consciousness.

Finally, after an agonizingly long time of Alec choking for air, his breathing evens into hiccoughing little wheezes. The shadowhunter is all curled in on himself, practically bent in half as his head hangs between his knees, and he looks impossibly small. Magnus is still holding his hand against his own chest, and his other hand is lightly rubbing Alec’s back. He can feel the exact moment that Alexander comes back to himself fully, and Magnus _tries_. He tries to ask what’s wrong in his most gentle voice and he tries to piece together the situation because one moment they had been getting frisky and the next second Alec had been falling into a violent panic attack and-

And that’s a red flag.

It _kills_ Magnus to see Alec like this, to see the sheen of tears in his eyes and feel the tremble in his hands and hear the cracking of his voice. And Alec has the audacity to try and _apologize_ , even as he’s pulling away, even as he’s turning away, even as he’s fleeing out the door and down the steps and heading for the Institute like it’s some sort of refuge. Magnus stands in the foyer of his apartment, alone, his arms still raised where they had once held Alec and his pants still a touch too tight because apparently it takes more than his boyfriend having a panic attack to dampen his libido and what kind of person does that make him?

One of his rules. One that his father had never taught him, but one that he had forced himself to learn after leaving the barren wastes of Edom. _Always ask for consent_. _Never assume it_. And what had he done? He should have asked, should have double, triple, _quadruple_ -checked with Alec.

He hadn’t. And now Alec is gone.

Alec doesn’t contact him at all for four days, and Magnus spends that time getting intimately reacquainted with his inventory of alcohol and resolutely ignoring even the _thought_ of touching himself. He can’t stomach it.

On the fourth day, his wards let a shadowhunter through. The _only_ shadowhunter in the entire world that can freely pass through his wards is Alexander, and Magnus waits with bated breath as he wastes nearly fifteen minutes pacing in front of Magnus’ door. It almost drives Magnus insane, and he’s close to just throwing the door open when Alec finally, _finally_ knocks.

Magnus doesn’t even attempt to maintain a cool or unaffected air about him, as he so typically does. He breathes out a hesitant sigh of relief and ushers him into his loft. They sit awkwardly on the couch and Magnus summons hot tea for them and he wants so _desperately_ to reach out and hold Alec. But he doesn’t, because the last time he tried to touch without asking, Alec had a panic attack and Magnus never, _ever_ wants to be the cause of that again.

He sits there, still as a statue, as Alec tells him about _Hightower_.

About his uncle.

About his tutor.

About his _molester._

Magnus has killed before. He murdered countless people under his father’s tutelage and he fought in so many wars that he’s lost count of them all. He’s killed fellow warlocks, vampires, werewolves, fae. And he’s definitely killed _nephilim_ before. He knows the best ways to do it, even. Knows how to incapacitate runes and twist joints and shatter bones. _‘How to Kill a Shadowhunter’_ had been one of his father’s first lessons.

 _Never_ has he so viscerally wanted to resort to his father’s teachings.

It would be easy, he knows. So incredibly easy to find out where the pathetic, horrific excuse of a human lives now. He could break into any Institute, hunt down the bastard, kill him, and banish the corpse to some forsaken realm of Hell. The Clave would be none the wiser. No one would ever find the body.

A part of Magnus – the terrifying side, the _demonic_ side that reminds him far too much of Asmodeus – relishes in the very thought.

A far larger part of him, however, is focused so entirely on Alec that it’s impossibly easy to drop his fury. _Hightower_ is nothing but a bug under his boot; he can be squashed at any time. But Alec? Alec doesn’t need vengeance, doesn’t need anger or violence. Magnus wants to gather him into his arms and shield him from the world, wants to press kisses into his hair and never let him leave the safety of his apartment. He just wants to hold Alec, but Magnus isn’t going to push for it. So he holds onto his anger and he keeps just enough distance so as to not crowd Alec and he asks what Alec needs.

When Alec finally responds, all he wants is to be _held_ , and he asks for it in the most heartbreaking voice. He needs comfort, he needs love, he needs _Magnus_. And who is Magnus to deny his Alexander anything?

He immediately wraps his arms around Alec and tightens his hold until the two of them blur together. Alec is slow to respond, still shaking and quivering and crying against his shoulder, but eventually his fingers dig into Magnus’ shirt and he clutches onto the warlock as if he’s trying to keep his head up. Magnus holds on, smoothing his hands down Alec’s back and carding his fingers through his hair. He tries to hold on tight enough to keep Alec together in one piece, but every choked out sob rattles through Alec and shatters Magnus’ heart impossibly more.

They stay like that until Alec cries himself out, and then Magnus coaxes him into laying down across the couch. Alec falls asleep almost immediately, his head pillowed in Magnus’ lap and his face buried against the warlock’s flat stomach. Magnus stays up all night and stands vigil, carding his fingers through the shadowhunter’s messy hair and weaving a protection spell to beat back any unpleasant dreams. His blood is still boiling and the blistering fury of Edom sings through his veins. It would be _so easy_ to find Hightower, _so easy_ to _destroy_ every semblance of the bastard. It’s only Alec’s dead weight, warm and heavy in his lap, that holds him in place. It’s only the calming rise and fall of his angel’s chest, and the gentle puffs of breath against Magnus’ stomach, and the white-knuckled grip of Alexander’s fingers tangled in his shirt that stop him.

Magnus keeps his eyes trained on the steady rise and fall of Alexander’s chest, keeps his hands occupied by laying them on Alexander, keeps his mind focused on the fact that his Alexander needs him. Night passes slowly, and the next day is filled with reassuring Alec and cuddling on Magnus’ couch with a level of intimacy that melts his heart.

He fully expects for Alec to retreat back into his standoffish nature, for both of them to return to their month-long standard of keeping a respectful distance between each other in public and only cuddling on rare occasions in private. And Magnus has accepted that fate. So long as he gets to stay by Alexander’s side, he truly doesn’t mind. It’s a compromise and sacrifice that he’s willing to make.

Except, like always, the nephilim surprises him.

Instead of drawing away and further isolating himself, Alec begins to seek out physical contact. It starts small, when Alec’s hand brushes against Magnus’ as they walk down the street, or when he catches Alec reaching for him out of the corner of his eye, or when they’re sitting on the couch and Alec sits as close as humanly possible without them overlapping. It’s hesitant and cautious and the barely concealed yearning in Alec’s eyes breaks his heart, but Magnus remains adamant in his resolve to let _Alec_ decide the pace of everything. Magnus won’t ever push, won’t ever assume, won’t ever initiate. Alec needs the chance to sort all his own emotions out and work through what he wants from Magnus, without the added pressure of Magnus asking for anything.

Undeniably, it’s the wrong course of action. It’s nearly four months after meeting Alec, almost two months into their relationship, when Magnus finally – _finally_ – understands. There isn’t any distinctive _eureka_ moment, no sudden lightbulb flaring to life over his head. The realization comes in trickling little increments, snippets of information that Magnus gleans from watching Alec interact with his siblings and their friends. Alec almost _always_ hugs his siblings in both greeting and farewell, he likes to clap a hand to Jace’s shoulder and leave it there while they talk, he ruffles Max’s hair and leans against Izzy’s side and rests his head on Jace’s shoulder.

Magnus has always thought that Alec dislikes too much physical contact. The shadowhunter avoids most people in general, and often acts prickly and ill-tempered when in close quarters with others. And for a good part of their acquaintance, Magnus had been too preoccupied with trying to get in the shadowhunter’s pants to _notice_ anything. But Magnus begins putting together all the little pieces of Alec that he has, and it creates a far different answer: it isn’t that Alec doesn’t _want_ touch, it’s that he doesn’t know how to _ask_ for it.

It should have been utterly obvious to Magnus. He _should have_ realized it far sooner. Alexander Gideon Lightwood is an _incredibly_ tactile person. But between his own parents’ emotional distance, and the cruelly regimented expectations of the Clave, and the horrific abuse suffered at the hands of a trusted adult, and all of the ensuing damage that those things caused, Alec doesn’t know that he’s allowed to want physical intimacy with Magnus that isn’t just _sex_. It’s easy with his siblings, because that is a connection that Alec has had since he was a young child; the rules of the relationship are already firmly ingrained within Alec’s perception of the world. To him, the physical affection he shares with his siblings is a universal constant, a responsibility, almost even an obligation.

But Alec’s relationship with Magnus is entirely uncharted waters for the young man; Magnus is his first boyfriend and the absolutely _only_ person that knows about _Hightower_ , and that’s a lot of responsibility on Magnus’ side of things. Even back on their first official date at the Hunter’s Moon, Magnus remembers the moment he realized just how inexperienced Alec truly was. Given the attitudes and reputations of his younger siblings, the warlock had assumed that the closeted shadowhunter had at least partaken in some trysts during his teenage years, only to learn that Alec’s first kiss had been at the wedding-that-wasn’t. Magnus had promised himself then and there that he would do everything he could to give Alexander a relationship that made him happy, a promise that only increased when Magnus learned of Alexander’s childhood abuse.

There’s a weight there, a solemnity to Magnus’ silent oath. It isn’t as if Magnus is attempting to remove Alec’s own competence or agency from their relationship, it isn’t like he’s trying to guide Alec down any particular path or trying to assume that he’s the dominant force in their relationship due to his own (extensive) experience. It’s just that Magnus feels an almost moral obligation to protect Alexander, far beyond just his own emotional need to ensure the shadowhunter’s safety. Magnus still remembers what it was like in the land of his father, the horrendous things forced upon him, the horrific things he himself did. He still remembers how it felt catching Camille with each of her _other_ lovers, or how she would bite into his neck and push him down onto the bed and have her way with him, regardless of his own desires.

And Magnus knows that he’s just a passing fad for the shadowhunter, his first tentative stepping stone to reaching self-acceptance and sexual freedom. It isn’t the first time that Magnus’ own confidence and flamboyance have been used for the development of someone else’s wants. He knows that, just like everyone else, eventually Alec will grow tired of the fancy glittery warlock and will find some shadowhunter man who he can spend his life with, who he can grow old with, who he can love with his entire being. It hurts, but it’s a fact of life that Magnus has come to accept. Everything else is just a fleeting reprieve between the periods of heartache.

But by all of the gods above, when that day comes, when Alexander leaves and _destroys_ his heart, Magnus just wants him to be _happy_. He wants to ensure Alec doesn’t leave more broken than he was when they first met, that Alec comes to understand what a _healthy_ relationship should look like, that Alec will be better at avoiding abusive partners than Magnus ever managed to be. It’s a heavy responsibility to bear, made all the heavier by _both_ of their tragic histories of abuse. But it’s something that Magnus will graciously carry for the rest of his life, for Alec’s sake.

So when it becomes achingly obvious that Alexander Gideon Lightwood is _touch-starved_ , Magnus resolves himself to implement his own particular brand of what he likes to call ‘cuddle-therapy.’

He starts slow – he will never forgive himself if he causes Alexander _another_ panic attack – with just some simple, fleeting little touches. His hand lingers on the small of Alec’s back as they walk close together, he brushes away the tufts of hair that fall into Alec’s eyes, he guides Alec’s head to rest on his shoulder when they sit on the couch. They’re all innocent little gestures, casual reminders of the affection that runs between them, and it’s frankly ridiculous how much of an impact they have on Magnus himself. Camille had often referred to him as _clingy and codependent_ and following their final falling out, Magnus spent over a century throwing himself recklessly into orgies and one night stands in an attempt to cauterize his own bleeding heart.

And _now_ he’s all heart-eyed and weak-kneed and swooning like a damsel whenever Alec hesitantly grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, or presses an achingly tender kiss to Magnus’ forehead, or sneaks up and hugs Magnus from behind with a charmingly boyish laugh. It doesn’t all come as a sudden outpouring of physical intimacy, not as if some dam has burst, but rather it comes steadily, in small increments, the constant dripping of affection eroding away years’ worth of abuse and fear – for _both_ of them.

Eventually, Magnus stops having to make such a conscious effort to follow through with all the casual touches. They become commonplace in their relationship, to the point where neither of them have to think about it before they’re linking hands or fixing each other’s ties or curling up as close as humanly possible. At some point in their relationship, Alec easily gains the reputation for being the most affectionate of any of Magnus’ lovers; he is all gentle smiles and soft touches and warm hugs. Even on their off days, when one of them is in a foul mood, Alec remains remarkably adamant in asking for comfort when he needs it, or offering it to Magnus when _Magnus_ is the one in need. And the dear shadowhunter utterly refuses to leave the loft without his customary farewell hug and kiss. Alec doesn’t even seem to mind Magnus’ own tendencies to be clingy and needy; if anything, Alec _encourages_ the behavior, until the two of them are some unstoppable positive feedback loop of affection.

One day Alec stumbles through asking if they can share a bed, and then weeks later Magnus wakes up to the realization that his boyfriend is a 6’3” cuddly octopus when it comes to sleeping together, all tangled limbs and messy bedhead and quiet snores. Magnus really has to pee, and Alec’s knee is accidentally digging right into his bladder, but he spares a few precious moments to tighten his arms around the young man and press a lingering kiss against his temple (and maybe even dry a few fallen tears against his hair, but no one else is present to witness those so surely they don’t even count).

Magnus had begun his amorous pursuit of Alec with the intention of a quick fuck and some mind-blowing orgasms, of seeing how those infamous runes held up in bed or how angelic the nephilim would look while choking on a warlock’s cock, of so completely wrecking him that he would be utterly ruined for anyone else. Instead, Magnus is the one who is ruined. He hasn’t jacked off in _months_ and it doesn’t even matter to him anymore, because he has his beloved angel who loves to give hugs and cuddle under fluffy pink blankets and tangle their limbs together so effectively that Magnus can’t even get up to use the bathroom in the morning. _The_ Magnus Bane – king of hedonism and patron of all the most lustful arts – has been well and truly brought to his knees. All by a teddy bear of a shadowhunter who has gorgeous hazel eyes and a beautiful bashful smile that could outshine the sun.

And Magnus wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing horny af Magnus is incredibly enjoyable and I have no doubt that we'll be seeing more from him.
> 
> Thank you all very much for reading!
> 
> ~PNGuin


End file.
